It was nearly ten o’clock. My husband picked up the telephone, checked the caller ID and said, “It’s Naomi,” (not her real name.)

I’m not a big telephone talker, but there was a smile on my face as I reached for the telephone. Naomi has become one of my favorite people.

“Are you busy?” she asked in her soft, lyrical Pennsylvania Dutch accent.

Of course I was busy. I’m always busy. But never too busy to talk with a good friend, especially one who has taken the time to walk out to an unheated phone shanty in the middle of January!

I got caught up on her daughter’s troubled pregnancy and how the other Amish were bringing in food and helping with housework so the daughter could be on complete bed rest. Naomi described the pregnancy problem in some detail. She’s a midwife with forty years of experience and has dealt with troubled pregnancies before.

As we got caught up on each others lives, I marveled at the miles, (she lives in a different state) different customs and vastly different lives that lay between us–and yet how easily we have connected–even on the first day I met her. We discussed in some depth a friend of hers I had met who has two special needs children, and a less than ideal husband. I found out how Naomi’s twin grandbabies are doing. (they’re crawling now and such a handful!)

As we prepared to hang up–Naomi was growing cold even though she had dressed warmly–she asked if this had been a good time to call, or if it was too late. I assured her that it had been a terrific time to call.

Then she surprised me. “Good,” she said. “Because sometimes I just really need to talk with you.”

Me too, Naomi. Me too.

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